


A Taste so Sweet

by Akiruchan



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Play, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Crime Scenes, FBI Agent Ciel, Hannibal inspired, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Coercion, Murder, Oral Sex, PTSD, Psychologist Sebastian, Serial Killer Sebastian, aged up Ciel, dark ciel, dark themes, disturbing imagry, liberties taken in geographical locations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiruchan/pseuds/Akiruchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Hannibal Inspired]</p><p>Ciel knew he would live to regret this. Dr. Sebastian Michaelis is smooth words and dark temptation. The devil hides in plain sight, and Ciel can't bring himself to resist. There will be innocent blood on Ciel's hands before his time is up. The prospect never tasted so sweet when licked from the devil's lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by NBC’s Hannibal. I thought it would be fitting to put Ciel and Sebastian into an AU version on the story. After all, we already know Sebastian wants to eat Ciel. 
> 
> I’ll update this as quickly as I can. I’m thinking there will be about five chapters in total. I don’t want this to turn into something too long… but that will remain to be seen. lol.

_It’s dark, the moon is only a silver crescent in the pitch sky. Nothing lights the way, leaving the forest a treacherous venture. The boy has little way of knowing where he is or where he has to go. Cold air chokes at his lungs and tears feel frozen on his cheeks. He trips, over a root or his own feet, there is no way of telling._

_In the dark silence underbrush crunches, a much larger animal is prowling. The boy is prey and his predator stalks with practiced expertise. He’s done this enough times to know when to wait and when to pounce. It’s silent again; the boys heart pounds painfully loud in his ears. Another twig snaps to the left. The boy bolts._

_The chase begins anew. The prey is tiring; it’ll only be a matter of time now. One, two, three, and it’s all over. From within the gloom a man appears. White teeth shine in a grisly smile. The boy has no time to react; no sounds escapes from his as his throat is caught and crushed. He doesn’t fight the man, just continues to cry. Tears flow from clear blue eyes._

_Those eyes are too innocent, they see the man for what he really is. He can’t have that. He’s not a monster. He’s not, he’s not, he’s not. The boy is pushed to the ground, cold earth and roots digging painfully into his back. It isn’t until the man pressed his thumbs into each eye socket that the boy gargles out a scream. There is nothing human about it, just a cry of a wounded animal._

_Another smile crosses the man’s face. He feels nothing but relief. The boy can’t see, he can’t see the man for what he is… for what he is not. Never a monster. No, never that. He is an artist. He is the creator! This beautiful boy will be the canvas to another masterpiece. The boy will thank him, he will make him immortal. A piece of art that will last long past death._

_A knife glints off what little light there is. The boy never sees it coming. It plunges into the tender belly and pulls across flesh. A scream tears from the boy’s throat…_

\---

“Ciel!” 

The world washes back into focus, from Van Gogh to Rousseau. Ciel’s throat is raw and he’s vaguely aware that he’s been screaming. His stomach rolls and twists with the phantom feel of a knife. Bile rises, burning and insistent. Ciel vomits and heaves up what’s left of his lunch. 

Behind closed eyelids Ciel sees a different knife; he sees masked faces with similar toothed smiles. The scream though, that reverberates through his mind’s eye like a bad dream, is his, but not of his making. So close, but not the same. Another onslaught of dry heaves take over, convulsing Ciel’s body. 

“Ciel, drink this.” A small cup of water is shoved under his nose. He takes it gratefully and sips two large gulps from it. “You okay?” 

He looks towards the woman, a kind redhead with particularly large spectacles. “I’m fine,” Ciel says quickly. He’d rather brush this off and get back to work. She looks skeptical and ready to question him. “Really Meyrin, I’m fine. Just fell in a little too deep.” He tries a smile, and even though it looks like Meyrin is ready to argue, she drops it. 

Ciel brushes himself off and stands straight. He drains the rest of the water from the cup and crushes the plastic in his hands. The sharp edges cut into his palm and ground him. It’s all he can do to keep himself from falling back into what the scene before Ciel is telling him. 

The boy, Alois Trancy, age 13, is hung, like a coat off a rack, from the trunk of a large cypress. That isn’t the most striking aspect of the scene. While still alive, the boy is disemboweled. His intestines pulled out and stripped into fine lengths of pliable, meaty string. 

The killer has been dubbed ‘The Spider.’ Accurately so due to the spider’s web that hangs suspended before the corpses of all his victims; all made from the shredded strings of intestines. Trancy will now make four kills in all, and Ciel expects this will not be the last. The man has an eye for young boys, no older than fifteen. Causes of death vary, but each boy is an orphan coming from foster parents or larger institutions. The similarities end there, leaving nothing more to go on. Even the physical features are different. Trancy will make the second blond. 

One thing's for sure, another body will be found. Ciel gives it a week, two at the most. The time frame between kills has been growing smaller, no doubt due to The Spider’s growing confidence. 

“What do you have for me, Phantomhive?” Tanaka, head of the Behavioral Science Department, looms over Ciel. He’s an older man, going gray with age. Most would write him off as the grandfatherly type, Ciel knows better than to make that error. The man is all strict business and results. 

Ciel shrugs. “He’s getting more confident in his kills; there isn’t as much collateral damage.” He glances quickly at the scene. “They’re art, flies trapped in the web of a spider.”

Tanaka hums low in his throat. “Anything we don’t already know?” The words are sharp, but Ciel expects they weren’t meant to be too biting. 

“I couldn’t pick anything significant up,” Ciel hedges. 

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” 

The penny dropped and the real issue is placed glaringly on the table. “Tanaka, there isn’t anything new here. This guy is careful. He’s a man who knows what he’s doing. Until he fucks up, there isn’t much more I’m going to be able to tell you.” It’s the closest to the truth Ciel can give. There might be more to see in the poor Trancy boy hanging like a rag, but Ciel won’t be bullied into looking. 

There is a frown line beginning to dig deep into Tanaka’s brow. “Does this have to do with your--” 

“It doesn’t.” Ciel’s words are clipped and firm. 

It’s all Tanaka needs in order to see the truth of the matter. He sighs and looks at Ciel with nothing but pity. Ciel hates that looks. He hates everyone who gives him that look. Still, he can’t quite bring himself to hate Tanaka; it’s more of a deep dislike during moments such as these. 

“Have you talked with Dr. Middleford?” 

“Lizzy?” Ciel shakes his head. “We’re too close. It’s… Awkward.” She knows Ciel too well, and cares far too much. Any help she would give would be too heavily biased. “Besides, I don’t need to see a psychologist. I can handle myself.” 

“I never said you couldn’t. I just need you at one hundred percent. Since I put you on this case I’m lucky if I see fifty percent from you. Children are dying, Ciel! I need you to get over your shit and get me this killer.” Tanaka has an uncanny ability to look ten times his size and twenty times more intimidating when he wanted. Ciel shrunk with each well placed word. “Now if you don’t mind, I will have you see a psychologist. You will go, you will work out any issues you have, and I will not be told otherwise.” 

Ciel is left to curse his miserable fate. 

\---

That evening finds Ciel back in Quantico. The four of them, Ciel, Meyrin, and two other investigators, Bard and Finny, stand around one of the metal tables in the morgue. Ciel hangs off to the side, out of view of the boy’s body sprawled before inquiring eyes. 

They are combing the body for any remaining evidence, though Ciel knows there is none to be found. Just the evidence of the natural area of the crime scene can be seen. There is no saliva, no semen. These boys weren’t molested. Ciel figures that is one saving grace. Not that it matters, each boy still ended up dead. 

Bard is arguing with Finny about the nature of the ligature marks. Despite the killer having worn gloves, there is the possibility of gaging the man’s hand size. Whether that is relevant is the topic of heated debate. 

“We already know he’s a man. Unless we’re going to go across Vermont comparing the hand sizes of the natives, I don’t think it’ll do much good.” Bard shrugs. 

“It could still narrow down our list of suspects,” Finny retorts. 

An amused huff follows and Bard shakes his head looking particularly exasperated. “Might as well hypothesis their dick size while you’re at it.” 

“It’ not like we even have a list of suspects as it is,” Meyrin pipes in. 

Ciel tunes them out and heads for the door. He isn’t needed to hang around. Besides, he has an appointment in two hours. If he left now he can stop for coffee at the very least. Some caffeine will no doubt help to calm his nerves. Lizzy had called him on his drive back to Quantico with a time and place for his appointment. Apparently Tanaka had wasted no time. And, why should he? Ciel is his prime stallion, he can’t afford to have him any less than at peak performance. 

The thought makes Ciel feel bitter, but it is what it is. In the end Ciel will be getting his just desserts. Until then it seems as if he will be meeting a Dr. Sebastian Michaelis in Baltimore at 7:00 pm sharp. Lizzy had made a point to inform Ciel of the good doctor’s dislike of tardiness. A rather childish part of Ciel feels as if he might just be late, just to spite the whole situation. 

Regardless, Ciel makes it to the door of the colonial styled building with ten minutes to spare. Everything about the place looks posh and well kempt. Even the white pillars look freshly clean from nature’s touch. 

Ciel parks along the street, right before the paved walkway leading to the door. The engine shuffles to a stop and Ciel heaves a breath before slipping from his car. He is still dressed in the suit he wore early that morning. Between the flight back to Virginia and his time spent running around, Ciel hasn’t bothered to change. There are faint smudges of grass stains on the knees of his trousers, but he feels inclined to disregard his current appearance. Ciel feels no need to impress. None whatsoever. 

The front door is open, leaving Ciel to wander down the polished entrance hall. Each door has a plaque plastered to the front. It doesn’t take long to find one which reads Dr. Sebastian Michaelis. Ciel enters without much fuss and finds a warm and inviting waiting room. There are plush couches and chairs, and books lain out on tables. Ciel sits and grabs for a book. Kafka’s Metamorphosis; at least there is quality reading material. 

As he looks, Ciel finds copies of Goethe’s Faust, collected poetry of Baudelaire's, and Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. He is just about to pick up another when the door opens and a woman with flaming red hair waltzes out. Her every movement is exaggerated, but poised. The red seems to be an ongoing theme, reaching even to her crimson pant suit. 

Behind her a man appears, and Ciel can only guess that this is Dr. Michaelis. He smiles to his patient and bides goodbye, “I’ll see you same time next week, Ms. Sutcliff?”

“Of course,” the woman, whose voice is a little too deep to be feminine, answers. Despite the pronoun used, Ciel has to second guess the woman’s actual sex. The more he looks, the more he is will to pick out the masculine traits. Before he can ponder on it too long, she is out the door and Ciel becomes the sole inhabitant of Dr. Michaelis’ attention. 

“You must be Ciel Phantomhive?” he asks, though Ciel knows it might as well be rhetorical. 

“And you must be Dr. Michaelis.” Score two for stating the obvious. 

Dr. Michaelis smiles wide, it seems as if he finds Ciel’s words rather humorous. “You can call me Sebastian if you prefer. This meeting isn’t of a purely professional nature since we are keeping it out of the books.” Sebastian smiles wider at this. “So I don’t think it’ll hurt if we drop the formalities.” 

“No, I suppose not.” 

The door is held open for Ciel, every action speaking of a warm welcome, yet it still feels as if Ciel is walking into a hornet’s nest. One way or another he’ll be stung. He walks in nonetheless, and doesn’t acknowledge the chill that runs down his spine as the door clicks closed behind him. 

Sebastian sits down in one of two leather chairs positioned across from, but facing, one another. He motions for Ciel to sit in the remaining space. “Let’s begin, shall we?” 

Something tells Ciel that he’ll live to regret this. Still, he moves to the leather chair, sits, and they begin. Fate and future be damned. It is not like Ciel ever bought into such predestined notions. His life is of his own making, that and the mistakes that might occur along the way. 

“I have to say, when Dr. Middleford called me, I was rather pleased to indulge in her request,” Sebastian begins in a rich foreign accent. Something distinctly European, and closer to British than anything else. He’s all business, right down to his pressed three piece suit. Ciel imagines it cost more than his last month paycheck. “If you don’t mind me stating, you are something of an enigma in the psychological community.” 

Ciel frowns. “I do mind.” He does not need to be reminded of his special talents. Tanaka is sure to highlight and bring plenty of attention to them daily. “I don’t believe I’m here to be studied Dr. Michaelis.” 

“Sebastian.” 

The correction is waved to the side. Ciel feels childishly inclined to not indulge him. “I’m only here because I have no other choice. Now, if you please, can we keep this focused on my…” Ciel doesn’t want to put a name to it. Post-traumatic stress sounds too clinical. It makes the issue too real and Ciel would rather this be swept under the rug as quickly as possible. 

“Fair enough,” Sebastian graciously waves a white flag. He begins with the basics. “Your father was a special agent as well, wasn’t he?” 

Quick to the point, Ciel can respect that, if only it isn’t probing into his personal life. He huffs but answers. “He was; worked some big undercover cases. All long term.” 

“Were you close? I expect he wasn’t around much.” 

It is true. Ciel can probably count the times he saw his father for longer than a day on one hand. He was always working, but he was never a bad father. “We were close… He always made time for me when he had it. I sometimes think my mother resented me a little for it. It was only ever me and her, except when my father came home. Then it was me and him; she would always just sit alone and watch as he played with me.” 

Sebastian jots down some notes. Ciel frowns, feeling suddenly mad. He pushes it to the side and waits for Sebastian to prompt him to continue. “They died when you were young?” Sebastian asks at last. 

The story of their death is no secret. Ciel knows it ran in the papers for months, and is still talked about in some circles. “I was ten, yes.” 

“How did they die?” 

“You know as well as I do,” Ciel snarks. 

The out lash goes ignored. “They were murdered.” Ciel nods, and doesn’t add to Sebastian’s confirmation. “Were you there?” 

“Yes.” It’s pulled from between gritted teeth. Why is he here again? Ciel squirms in his chair. After a moment, he stands and begins to walk around the room. He can feel Sebastian’s eyes on him. He’s had people stare at him before. Ciel is used to stares. Most come in the form of pity, some purely judgmental. It is not unheard of for Ciel to gain fearful looks as he walks through the halls of the bureau. There are stories of Ciel, unsightly ones from crime scenes that never set well with him. It was a particular type of mental indigestion. 

Ciel isn’t a stranger to looks of wanting either; it’s a hot stare that caresses down his body. The weight of Sebastian’s eyes carry a similar heat, but all the more consuming. It’s not sexual, he doesn’t believe it to be. But, it is hungry for something Ciel can’t name. Usually it is particularly easy for Ciel to read people, to get into their heads. Dr. Sebastian Michaelis is a stone wall. As hard as he tries, Ciel can’t breach the walls. It’s wholly unsettling. 

“You’re working The Spider case?” Ciel falters, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. The breath that leaves him is one of relief. 

A smooth chuckle escapes past Ciel’s lips as he thinks of how to answer. It’s not information easily given. “That’s confidential,” he teases. 

Sebastian smiles. “I’ve official been asked to consult on the case. I’m sure you can allow me to pick your mind.” 

This is news to Ciel. “Tanaka asked you?” He ignores the second half of Sebastian’s statement. 

“I believe Dr. Middleford suggested it.” She would, Ciel knows. 

“You mentored her?” 

“I did, smart young woman.” Smart is putting it lightly, but Ciel nods in agreement. There isn’t much you could get past Lizzy without her knowing. 

“Do you have any insight on the case, Doctor?” A good part of Ciel is intrigued by what the doctor might have in mind. After four morbid scenes of blood and gore, Ciel is happy for a new perspective. 

Sebastian motions Ciel back to the chair. “Are you familiar with the mythology surrounding spiders, Ciel?” There is a pause where Ciel shakes his head. “Depending on the culture, they can represent anything from creation, tricksters, or demons.” 

“The Spider sees his victims as pieces of art.” That much Ciel is sure of. “They are beings of his own creation.” 

“Arachne was a master weaver. She figured herself so skilled that she challenged the great Athena. The goddess could not take the slight to her pride. Each created a beautiful tapestry, but Arachne’s was a sight to behold. Out of pride and anger, Athena destroy Arachne’s creation and subjected her to a life of guilt. The guilt being too much, Arachne took her own life. Athena soon took pity on the poor girl; she resurrected her in the body of a spider. Arachne was gifted with a life to weave her webs of art.” Sebastian finishes the tale, his eyes fixate on Ciel’s own. Ciel turns away quickly. 

“Are you suggesting that our Spider is Arachne, or perceives himself to be so?” It is not the worst assumption to be made. It is more than they had two hours ago at the lab. 

“He will have considered himself reborn, most likely at the hands of what he believes to be a heavenly being. You’ll be looking for someone who survived being pronounced clinically dead, and obviously who has a background in art… possibly textiles.” 

A million possibilities are floating through Ciel’s head. Unrelated clues that have been floating aimlessly are finally coming together. “The victims, all their eyes had been gorged out. He doesn’t like to be seen by them, he doesn’t want to be seen for what he is.” Each word comes slow and precise. “What were you reborn into?” Ciel wonders. 

“A spider,” Sebastian supplies. “His goddess turned him into a spider; a monster whose only purpose is to worship her with art. He is weaving Athena’s webs.”

“Who’s Athena?” That is the question. 

Ciel pulls out his cell and scrolls down his speed dial. Tanaka answers in two rings. 

“Phantomhive?” 

“He died, our perp. He was pronounced clinically dead but was revived, probably a week or two before the murders started happening. There will be a woman mentioned; something to do with her having a hand in his revival.” Ciel rushes the words out. He feels as if they might actually have their first true lead. 

There is some muffled yelling over the line before Tanaka’s deep voice filters through again. “Bard’s on it…” He trails off as he talks to the others in the room. 

Ciel waits patiently. The news comes soon enough. “We have a match! Claude Faustus, male, Caucasian, age 32. He was in an accident five months ago, heart stopped. EMTs were ready to call him, but a young woman, Hannah Annafellows, who had been the one to call the incident in pleaded for them to continue to attempt to resuscitate him. She saved his life.” 

“What’s her occupation?” Ciel asks. 

It takes a moment as the information is being collected. “She’s a social worker.” 

“And Faustus?” 

“Deals in antiquities, mainly tapestries.” 

Bingo, they have him. “That’s our guy!” Ciel’s up and grabbing for his coat. “I’m coming in. Do we have an address?” 

“461 Bay Drive, Kent Island.” It’s Bard who answers. No doubt Tanaka ran off to round everyone up. 

“That’s only an hour’s drive…” Ciel knows he can make it there first. They can’t waste any more time. 

Bard curses under his breath. “Don’t you—” Ciel hangs up before he can hear the rest of it. Tanaka will be mad, but he’ll thank Ciel in the end. He waste no time rushing back through the waiting room and into the hall. It does not even occur to Ciel that it might be rude to not say goodbye to Sebastian. He rather rushed out in a hurry. 

It’s not until he picks up the unnatural echo of his footsteps that Ciel stops and turns. Sebastian is there, coat in hand, and looking very inclined to follow. For a moment Ciel thinks to object, but shrugs and keeps on towards the front door. 

“I’m driving!” Ciel exclaims as they meet the dark evening. Sebastian does not think to argue. 

\---

They make it to Kent in record time. Sebastian does not comment on Ciel’s driving, but Ciel gets the impression that he wants to. Ciel gets the impression that there are a lot of things Sebastian would like to say to him. He eyes Sebastian as he slips from the car. The doctor is so well put together that it makes Ciel feel dirty in comparison. He is suddenly reminded of the grass stains on his knees. Self-conscious is not a feeling Ciel takes well to. 

Bay Drive is a small water side street, made up of brightly painted seaside vacation homes. The house in question is bright, painted a warm beige. It looks innocent, not the lair of an infamous serial killer. They ring the doorbell and wait. Sebastian is warm and nice smelling beside Ciel. It’s intoxicating in an alluring sort of way. He tries his hardest to ignore it. 

A man answers; he’s tall, dark hair and glasses. When he sees Ciel he smiles, but does not afford Sebastian the same courtesy. The two men stare at each other. Sebastian’s smile breaks the awkward tension. 

“We are looking for a Claude Faustus,” Ciel states. 

“Who’s asking?” He keeps watching Sebastian out of the corner of his eye. 

All it takes is Ciel flashing his badge to gain Claude’s full attention. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Ciel isn’t sure what he expects, but it’s not what he gets. Claude’s eyes flicker to the side and he pales tremendously. The door shuts in their face and the lock clicks in place. 

Ciel spares a look at Sebastian, but the doctor’s face is unreadable. “That went we—” A scream, feminine in nature, rips through the silent street. It spurs Ciel into motion. His gun is drawn and his shoulder is ramming again the door. 

“Let me.” Sebastian manhandles him out of the way. 

“Don’t fucking touch me…” Ciel loses the bite to his words as Sebastian elegantly kicks the door open. Ciel waste no time rushing into the house. The entry and living room are empty. A table is over turned by the couch and there is a lady’s purse and shoes by the door. If Ciel has to guess, they belong to one Hannah Annafellows.

Another scream filters in through the house and Ciel rounds the corner into the kitchen. His gun pinpoints Claude, revolver pressed into Hannah’s temple. Claude is breathing hard and whispering into the woman’s ear. Whatever the words, they cause nothing but tears to spill from Hannah’s eyes. 

“Drop your weapon!” Ciel yells.

Claude shakes and presses his gun in harder. “No… no. You can’t have her!” He looks panicked, and Ciel supposes he has a right to be. “She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine!” The gun jerks to the side and the trigger pulled. There is a burning in Ciel’s shoulder that he doesn’t recognize at first. His first reaction is to shoot, all instincts telling him to fight. 

A bullet catches Claude in the side and Hannah launches herself away into a corner. Ciel shoots again and again. Five bullets find themselves in the tender flesh of Claude Faustus. There is blood on the floor pooling around Claude and more blood running down Ciel’s side and arm. He’s confused at first, not making the connection as to the true owner of the blood. Claude is across the kitchen smiling at his handy work as Ciel inspects the gunshot wound with a strange indifference.

Claude’s smile disappears as Sebastian sweeps into the room and to Ciel’s side. He’s applying pressure onto Ciel’s shoulder and pushes him to lay on the floor. Abstractly Ciel knows he is going into shock, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the bloody dying body of Claude Faustus. There is a frantic look in his eye. The stare is far off, but aimed eerily in Ciel’s direction. 

“It’s not fair… You’re the same. Why… why me… why… Se… Sssss…” The last breath leaves Claude and Ciel feels his consciousness go with it. He’s vaguely aware of Sebastian’s warm hand on his shoulder and the sounds of Hannah’s weeping. 

Ciel doesn’t think to question a dying man’s last words.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Sorry it look longer than I hoped to get this fic up. I have been without internet at the house, so I had to make a trip to Starbucks to make use of theirs. lol. 
> 
> This chapter is short. I have officially outlined everything into ten chapters. So I’ll be keeping rather strictly to that. Which means chapter lengths will vary. The next chapter should be significantly longer. 
> 
> Lastly, I’m not one hundred percent happy with all of this. I’ll let all of you be the final judge on this chapter’s success. I’m hope to finally be moving into some of the darker and more psychological aspects of this come next chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The stagnant smell of disinfectant and the chime of machines welcomes Ciel back into the waking world. It’s as if he is coming from one dream and into another. His mind is a haze of blood, violence, and power. Pain is what signals reality. The hard throb radiates through Ciel’s shoulder and tears a gasp from his throat. 

Blue eyes blink open to the afternoon sun and clinical white ceilings. Ciel tries to calm his panicked heart; his breaths coming out in ragged puffs. Suddenly he is ten again, alone and so very small. He hears the laughing, the jeering. He sees blood, and he feels the overwhelming loss. Ciel feels the choking hold of powerlessness. It eats away at him, bit by bit. Until there is nothing left but emptiness. 

He reaches out, grasping for anything in this dismal darkness. Slender fingers wrap around cold metal and the weight of a gun burns away the weakness. Power floods Ciel, pooling in his stomach and warming his muscles. The cool white of the ceiling morphs and swims into the vision of a kitchen where a body slumps, bloody and broken. Looking down at Claude’s dead form, Ciel smiles and his body eases down from its panic. 

One, two, and three breaths later and Ciel is back in the hospital, the smell of disinfectant stinging at his nose. A firm hand grips at Ciel’s shoulder and pushes him back to lay against his pillows. The action startles Ciel, unknowing of anyone else having been in the room. Wide eyes take in Sebastian, clean cut in a fine chocolate Glen Check suit. 

“I apologize,” he says, voice smooth and rich. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.” 

It struck Ciel as odd, in that moment, for Sebastian to be apologizing. The man shouldn’t be here, let alone apologizing for something so irrelevant to the true issue of the matter. Ciel feels violated in such a way he cannot bring to words; Sebastian an unknowing voyeur to Ciel’s trauma. 

“You didn’t.” It is a vain attempt to brush the situation off on Ciel’s part, but he tries nonetheless. 

Sebastian says nothing to contradict. 

“What… What brings you here?” It’s not the obvious question, and not the one bouncing around Ciel’s head. Yet, it is the one he verbalizes. 

The improvised question does not go unnoticed by Sebastian. A quirk of the lips is the only thing that gives him away. He leans back, away from the bed, giving Ciel some space before answering the true question on the table. “You’ve been unconscious for three days Ciel. The bullet was a clean shot, in an out, through your left shoulder. It’ll be tender for a bit, but no lasting damage. Granted some physical therapy will no doubt be needed.”

“I’m wondering what ever happened to patient-doctor confidentiality?” Ciel clips. 

Sebastian shifts, his elbows placed upon his knees, hands clasped together. “I assure you that your doctor revealed nothing of the sort to me. I merely assessed as much from what I have seen of your condition.” 

This peaks Ciel’s interest. “Rather knowledgeable in medicine for a psychologist, Dr. Michaelis.” 

“Sebastian,” Sebastian corrects. 

“Dr. Michaelis.” 

Giving up for now, Sebastian just smiles. “If you must know, I was a surgeon.”

“Was?” 

“Was.” That seems to be the extent Sebastian will reveal, and Ciel does not push. It’s none of his business and he really does not care. They drift into silence, Ciel digesting information he never asked for, his original question going unanswered. What difference does it really make why Sebastian is here? He was with Ciel at the scene. He was there when Ciel got shot. 

A nurse came in then, all smiles and good nature. “You’re up!” She fiddled around with Ciel’s vitals, and gave a very similar run through that Sebastian had given only moments prior. “You’ll be ready to leave in a few days,” she says, and then turns to look at Sebastian. “You’ll be able to take him home; keep him company there. He’ll need some TLC.” 

Ciel blushes, scrambling for words. He isn’t sure what the nurse is insinuating, only that this isn’t the first time Sebastian has come to visit. Ciel isn’t sure what that says about anything. 

“I assure you, I plan to do just that.” Sebastian smiles and watches as the nurse finishes and leaves the room with the promise of the doctor seeing to Ciel shortly. 

Nothing really makes much sense in this moment, and Ciel wonders if he has misread the entire situation. The care Sebastian is revealing to Ciel bypasses anything general. It might even bypass friendly care. It leaves Ciel feeling unsure of how to process the information. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Ciel finally says. He can’t think of any other reason for Sebastian’s behavior. 

“No, of course not, but you are an individual who has entrusted me with their care.” 

Ciel frowns. “You’ve known me… known the conscious me, for only a couple of hours.” 

If this bit of news seems to disused Sebastian’s intentions, whatever they may be, he does not show it. Instead, he leans down and retrieves a bag that has gone unnoticed on the floor. From it he pulls two tubberware containers and places them on Ciel’s bedside table. 

The containers show to house a magenta like soupy cream, topped with what looks to be thinly sliced meat. “Borscht,” Sebastian explains upon seeing Ciel’s look. “I made it on the off chance you awoke today. It’s a Lithuanian dish of beet juice, sour cream, and yogurt… With veal as a garnish.”

A spoon and a plastic container of the soup is handed off to Ciel. He takes it with no fuss, his stomach feeling particularly empty. Slowly Ciel takes a sip, keeping mind not to jostle his bad arm. It’s surprisingly salty, sweet and cold. He says as much and watches as Sebastian smiles. 

“It’s traditionally served cold.” Sebastian is taking a sip of his own, watching Ciel out of the corner of his eye. 

The soup is good, even if Ciel is unused to cold soup. He’s had gazpacho once, but can’t say he had been a fan. This though, Ciel likes. He thinks to question if Sebastian made it, but thinks better of it. He can tell by the intent interest Sebastian showers upon him as he bites into the veal, savoring the taste. The little smile curling at the corners of Sebastian’s mouth tells Ciel enough. Sebastian is proud of this meal; he hopes Ciel enjoys the fruit of his labor. The soup is exquisite, but Ciel reigns in his delight. He can’t give too much away to this man, even if it’s just on childish principle. 

\---

Tanaka comes in the next day. He enters the room, and sits in the chair Sebastian had occupied just the day before. It’s no surprise, Tanaka is always all business. He offers no well wishes, just a stern nod when he assess that Ciel is on the mends. 

“I’ve brought the file of Claude Faustus,” Tanaka says after a moment. Ciel stays quiet, unsure as to why such a thing could be relevant at this point. “Thought you would like to put this case to rest.” 

The file is placed on the bed. Ciel doesn’t reach for it. 

“Dr. Michaelis seems to have taken a liking to you. The nurses can’t seem to talk of much else.” 

“Another psychologist eager to get into my head,” Ciel says. He tries not to let the bitterness sully his voice. It is the only assumption he can make. Sebastian would not be the first shrink to try underhanded methods of getting their hands on his brain. When he was young, it was about being the doctor to make the break through; when his talents in imagination became known, they scrambled to get a glimpse of the inner cogs and gears. Ciel has no stomach for any of it. 

“He’s trying to help,” Tanaka reasons. 

Ciel can laugh at that. “Me… Or himself?” 

The topic is dropped as soon as it surfaced. Tanaka stands and points to the folder. “Take a look. I’ll be back for that tomorrow.” Then, as an afterthought. “Get better.” Like a ghost, he is spirited away as quickly as he came. 

Alone in his room, Ciel eyes the file. He is unsure if he even wants to know. Claude Faustus feels like a demon, a dark secret lurking in the back of Ciel’s mind. He has possessed Ciel, pushing towards an end Ciel is unwilling to acknowledge. Still, his fingers itch to grab the file, to delve deeper into who this man was. 

Not one to curb his appetite, Ciel grabs for the file and flips it open. The majority of the information is moot or already known. One thing that stands out is Claude’s education. The man apparently had a short tryst, in 2002, with the idea of medical school at Stanford. He transferred after one and a half years, deciding to resume his studies at the University of Chicago.

Whatever he hopes to find is absent from the file. Ciel feels no closure. If anything Claude is made all the more real, no longer the apparition he shot and killed in the kitchen. The image is seared into his mind. Milk dead eyes stare back, a contrast from the brilliant crimson of blood flowing and drowning them all. 

And there, whispered from the tip of his tongue, Ciel hears Claude’s last words. “It’s not fair… You’re the same.” A swell of defensive wrath wells up in the pit of Ciel’s stomach. No, he wants to scream. We are nothing alike. Yet the thrill of knowing he has taken a life sits coiled heavy and deep within him. It’s a wonderful little dirty secret. Something to cherish and cultivate with a fondness. Ciel never wants this feeling to end, and he feels all the sicker for it. 

The file closes with a snap, and he tosses it to the bottom of the bed. It will lay there, ignored, until Tanaka comes to collect it in the morning. 

\---

Sebastian visits an hour after Tanaka leaves the next day. He’s weighted down with a cooler. As always, he is dressed to the nine in a three piece suit, navy pinstriped this time around. The crimson tie reminds Ciel of blood; he looks away quickly. 

“Thought you would be hungry,” Sebastian announces, taking out multiple containers. 

Ciel snorts. “The way to my heart isn’t through my stomach.” 

“Then I must reevaluate my tactics.” Sebastian is probably teasing, probably. There isn’t a telltale sign to give reason for Ciel to believe anything, one way or another. 

Deciding to be blunt, Ciel just throws the issue out there. “No matter how delicious the food you throw at me is, I’m not going to be any more amiable about you digging into my head. Nothing you do will make me complacent to it.” 

The intended reaction is not what Ciel receives. Sebastian laughs, a deep throated chuckle. “Is that what you think of me?” 

Ciel’s silence is answer enough. 

“I promise you Ciel that is not my intention. True, you interest me, but I see value in you past mere study. I’ve enjoyed our talks thus far.” Sebastian passes off a container or some type of noodles and what might be chicken. It looks far fancier than anything simple. 

“You’ve come to this realization within this short of time?” Ciel seems rather dubious. He takes a bite of food, savoring the flavor. It would be easy to get used to Sebastian’s cooking. “If you’ve come to appreciate me as a person, Dr. Michaelis, please feel free to return the favor. Tell me about yourself, so that I might appreciate you.” 

“Sebastian,” Sebastian corrects. “I’m not that interesting of a man.” 

Ciel smiles. “I highly doubt that.” 

The smile is returned and Sebastian relents. “I don’t find myself particularly interesting. I have a particular fondness for the arts, and indulge in many of them.” 

“The culinary?” 

“Yes,” Sebastian chuckles. “The culinary, which, might I say, you seem to enjoy.” 

There is no deny it, and Ciel does not try. He took another bite, finding the chicken juicy and tender. It houses a flavor Ciel is not used to experiencing with poultry. “I do.” 

Sebastian seems to preen at that. “I’m glad. You’ll have to allow me to have you for dinner. I’ll cook you a proper meal. Unfortunately I can only prepare simplistic meals for the go.” 

“I wouldn’t call this simplistic. It’s chicken?” A chunk of meat is impaled on Ciel’s fork and waved about. 

“Pheasant,” Sebastian says. 

Ciel shrugs it off. It’s all the same to him. When it comes down to it, all that matters is the taste. Anything can be eaten so long as it tastes good. That has been Ciel’s philosophy on food. He tells Sebastian this, and is rewarded with bright eyes and a toothed smile. 

In that moment, Ciel decides that, yes, Sebastian is interesting, despite all the reservations he has about the man. “However did you learn to cook? Culinary school? I don’t believe this can be self-taught.” 

“No, indeed it can’t. Although I never attended schooling for it, I did put it to practice during my time in medical school. When you see what processed food does to one’s body, you tend to take the time to prepare what you put into your body.” Sebastian took a bite of noodle and meat, humming at the flavor. 

“I can imagine.” Ciel is vaguely reminded of Claude, with the idea of medical school. To think that two men could pursue a career and turn out so different. Sebastian doesn’t seem the type for violence. The man is too proper to get his hands dirty. “You quit though… being a doctor.” 

“I did,” Sebastian is cautious with his words. “Didn’t have the stomach for it.”

There is no need to elaborate, Ciel understands. The stress involved alone would be enough to keep Ciel away from the field. The food is soon finished and Sebastian packs up the containers. It’s getting late already and Ciel feels distinctly distraught over knowing he will soon be alone. Ciel can’t put a finger on why or why it might make him feel uneasy. Instead he watches as Sebastian stands and brushes off his trousers. 

“I’ll be leaving on Thursday,” he says. That’s three days from now. Sebastian stops and eyes Ciel. There is no smile, and the look feels particularly assessing. Whatever Sebastian is looking for, he must find. A moment later he is walking towards Ciel’s bed and patting his knee. It’s a friendly gesture, one that does not seem out of place. 

“I have no appointments planned, if needed I wouldn’t mind escorting you home.” 

Ciel isn’t sure he expects the offer, or that he is fishing for it. Regardless he feels pleased and nods his consent. There is something entirely pleasing about Sebastian, Ciel just can’t put his finger on it. Everything about the man feels normal, and perhaps, that is exactly it. It’s the eyes that give it away. Sebastian’s garnet eyes, so deep and dark, reflect nothing but understanding. Sebastian understands Ciel. It’s not a look Ciel is used to getting. 

To Sebastian, Ciel is just Ciel. A normal man, albeit with an interesting set of traits. But Sebastian has admitted to the interest he houses for Ciel. An interest, Ciel wants to hope, is for him as a whole and not exclusive to his mind. 

Nothing can be known for sure, but as Sebastian gives his farewell, Ciel can only hope that the good doctor proves sincere. Only time will tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have a bit of a time jump and will be much longer. As I said, this chapter feels more like a build up for what is to come in regards to Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship. When we see them next time, Ciel will be free of many of the reservations he’s had for Sebastian.
> 
> I’m also worried I’m moving this along too fast. It’s been far too long since I’ve tackled a multichaper fic on my own! Collabs have spoiled me. So please let me know if I need to slow down any aspect of this fics progression. 
> 
> Lastly, you can follow me on Tumblr (@akiruchan) for updates regarding this fic and my writing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I ended up getting a new job, moving, and dealing with everything in between. I'll try to be a little more prompt with these updates, especially with the holidays coming up. I'll have more time to sit and write then. 
> 
> I will warn you that this chapter is not beta'd. If I have time I'll go through it tomorrow. If not, I'd be more than happy to take on a beta reader. Pretty please!? lol. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

“What does the tox screen say?” 

Bard looks up from having his hands wrist deep into the abdominal cavity of a corpse. It is the first body to show up since Ciel’s return to the job. The woman, believed to be in her early thirties, is severely defaced. All facial features are mutilated, the destruction running all the way down to her naked breast. Her chest shows the beginnings of possible amputation of her breasts. All in all it is a mess. 

“Not sure. They haven’t gotten back here yet,” Bard answers and goes back to work. 

“And an ID?” 

Finny shakes his head. “Meyrin should have it soon.” 

That left very little to go on. It was all rather unsettling considering the evidence so far points to one disturbing fact. This was self-mutilation, pure and simple. Not an act one would do with a sane mind, hence Ciel’s need for the tox screen. 

As it stands, Ciel is useless at this point in time. He is anxious to get the reports in and file this case away as a bad trip. There is no sign of foul play, which leaves only the worry of what drug could be causing such hideous side effects. In Ciel’s opinion this isn’t FBI work, but he’ll take it for now. 

“I’ve go—” Meyrin came skidding into the autopsy, banging into an empty metal table. She rights herself quickly and fixes the hem of her shirt. The papers she carries scatters and Finny darts to go gather them. Ciel shifts, wanting his hand on those papers, but patience is a virtue and all of that. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Meyrin apologizes. “I’ve got your ID.” 

Ciel darts forward then, grabbing at the file. The woman is a Ms. Jacklyn Norris, with nothing of consequence sullying her record. A speeding ticket, one speeding ticket, is the only mark against this woman. The lack of prior drug charges has Ciel frowning, especially when considering the woman’s age. One would think that a drug charge would surface before this point. 

He looks back to the woman, sees the violent cuts made into her flesh. “What did she use?” 

Bard stops, looks up and then back at the body. “The jagged quality of the cuts suggest a serrated edge… A steak knife maybe?” He makes a face. 

“And the weapon?” 

All three agents look to one another. “We never picked one up…” Meyrin trails off with a frown. A scene that should have been an easy case of overdose, is looking far more complicated. It isn’t a wonder why such an important clue was overlooked. It was a key that should not have be there. 

“So then, where did the knife walk off to?” Ciel says, walking around the cold table and even colder body. “I don’t think our Ms. Norris was alone in this.” 

“You don’t think it’s murder?” Bard looks incredulous. “Might be looking too far into this Ciel.” 

Ciel shakes his head. “It’s something to consider. Regardless we need to find that knife, or lack thereof. This wouldn’t be the first odd suicide this month.” A quick scan of the clock has Ciel cursing under his breath. 

“Something wrong?” Meyrin comes by and gathers the file on Jacklyn Norris. 

There is a pause and Ciel fiddles with the hem of his button up. “Dr. Michaelis is expecting me for dinner.” 

“Oh?” This perks up everyone’s interests. “Already being asked to dinner are we?” 

Ciel shoots Bard a glare. “It’s just a friendly dinner.” 

“Mhm… Just friendly, okay.” The smirk on Bard’s face is far too wide, and far too knowing. It has been a little over a month since Ciel was released from the Hospital. Since that point, Sebastian has been a rather constant presence in Ciel’s life. It’s almost odd how quickly they meshed, and how soon Ciel allowed himself to relax around the doctor. He likes to not think about it, and just takes it as it is. There is a familiarity, an understanding, and it works. Sebastian makes a good friend. The therapy is another story. It is slow going and Sebastian does not push. 

“In any case, it’s none of your business.” Ciel grabs for his coat and heads for the door. “Call me if anything comes up.” 

“You sure? I don’t want to interrupt anything.” Ciel can hear the smirk in Bard’s voice. 

“Go to hell!” 

The room burst into laughter and Ciel ignores it in a vain attempt. 

\---

Sebastian’s home is grander than Ciel initially expected. It’s three stories and encased in brick. Gaging from the style, it’s an old establishment, but one erected and well-kept through years of wealth. Ciel feels poor just standing on the walkway. 

He hesitates at the door, the warm light on the porch casting a comforting glow. It takes Ciel a moment, and a deep breath, before he can raise his hand and knock on the hardwood door. The sound is loud in the cool dark evening. It only takes a moment before Sebastian is at the door and ushering Ciel inside. His coat is taken, hung by the door, and steered towards the kitchen. Everything is happening in a whirlwind, and Ciel feels like he can’t breathe until he’s resting on a bar stool within the kitchen, wine in hand. He watches, quietly as Sebastian busies himself around the kitchen. 

This is, perhaps, the most casually dressed Ciel has ever seen the man. Sebastian wears only a pale blue button down, sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. A white apron is tied around his waist, obscuring the coal grey slacks he wears. Despite being underdressed, he still remains successful in outshining Ciel’s own state of dress. Perhaps, he should have foregone jeans. 

“You seem quiet.” 

“I’m merely taking everything in. I can’t say I’ve been in many house this… grand. Not for a long time at least.” Ciel swirls his wine glass, taking a sip and savoring the flavor. He’s not sure of the make, but it is red and sweet with just the right amount of dryness. 

Sebastian hums and throws a chunk of meat into a pan to sear. The oil pops and sizzles, filling the air in a delicious scent. “You are far too generous Ciel. Don’t think too highly of me,” Sebastian says. 

“Modesty does not suit you Dr. Michaelis,” Ciel chides, but allows a smile as he takes another sip of wine. 

There is a frown tugging at the corners of Sebastian’s mouth. “You are in my house, for dinner, as a friend. Please Ciel, call me Sebastian. I believe we are past such needless formalities.” 

“Or perhaps you have misread the intimacy of our relationship Dr. Michaelis.” Silence stretches and both men look at one another with burning eyes. Ciel feels an excitement in goading Sebastian. It feels akin to playing with fire, or, perhaps, poking at the sleeping snake. He is not sure why he feels so adamant in refusing to call Sebastian so casually. It’s a game, that much Ciel does know. A power play? Maybe, maybe not. 

“Then, dear Ciel, please enlighten me as to the level of intimacy you seem to believe we have reached.” Ciel says nothing, drinking down the remainder of his wine. He pours himself another glass and toys with possible topics in which to change the subject. 

A pan is taken from the oven and food is divided onto two plates. Sebastian saves Ciel from his inner plight, and directs him into the formal dining room. It’s rich in its decor, all navy and dark woods. Another glass of wine is poured and a plates of extravagant food is placed before Ciel. This isn’t food, not in the traditional sense. This was art. 

“I can’t eat this. It’s too pretty!” 

Sebastian laughs. “I assure you, you can eat it. In fact, to destroy the beauty is part of the experience. One must first appreciate their meal visually before they can fully enjoy it physically. It is within the destruction of beauty that we find fulfillment and joy. Rather cathartic, don’t you agree?” 

Ciel isn’t sure what to say to that, it’s all a little too philosophical for his tastes. Instead, he picks up his fork and takes a bite. The meat is juicy and potent. He tastes rosemary and peppercorn, along with a slew of other flavors coming together in tasteful bliss. 

“Beef?” Ciel questions. 

The slight shake of Sebastian’s head seems amused. “Not beef”, he says. Ciel does not think to question further. Everything taste exquisite and Ciel feels as if it will be spoiled with too many inquiries. He’s vaguely aware of the types of meats and cuts that can be used. Sebastian seems like an individual that would deal in the more questionable delicacies; if only to say that he can. 

They eat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. It is nice, and perhaps a companionship Ciel has been in need of. Too many people seem uneased by his lapses into silence. Why humans feel the need to fill ever quiet moment with pointless babble is beyond Ciel. Sebastian seems just as fond of companionable silence as he does of the conversations they have. 

Dessert is brought out with a few pleasantries. Ciel accepts a crème brulee infused with bergamot. “I could eat a dozen of these.” The sweet is delightful. Every ounce of the meal has been delicious. “How can you not be fat? I’d be eating constantly if I could cook like you.” 

Sebastian chuckles. “Anything had in excess diminishes its value to us. What allure does a treat have that you can taste at any whim?” Smirking lips wrap around a modest fork full of warm custard. “Besides, we can’t always have what we want when we desire it. Gluttony is a sin after all.” 

“Among other things,” Ciel counters, but goes back to his dessert. A flash, and Ciel is thinking about a kitchen miles away. He has blood on his hands and power swelling in his chest. Taking a human life is a sin. The thought does not faze him. It’s this particular fact that Ciel finds so unsettling. He suddenly finds his appetite lacking. 

“Is something not to your tastes?” Sebastian inquires as Ciel pushes his dessert aside. 

“Not anything of your making.” No need to accidently insult Sebastian’s cooking. “It’s just a demon of my own making.” 

This seems to perk Sebastian’s interest. He takes a last bite of crème brulee and stands. “Come, we can talk more in the parlor.” The idea of Sebastian having a parlor seems laughable but perfectly logical. Of course the man would ask him to the parlor after dinner to drink brandy and smoke cigars. 

In all actuality, Sebastian pours Ciel two fingers of whisky and lets him relax back into a plush leather chair. Wine seems Sebastian’s drink of choice, and he refills his glass from dinner. Ciel takes a moment to take stock of the room. It’s gaudy to say the least, but in a sophisticated way, not in the way the rich often flaunt their money. No, Sebastian’s taste run towards the side of monumental class, all rich colors of burgundy and navy. If Ciel has to put a name to it he’d call it stuffy European. One thing was for sure, the room cost more than Ciel’s pay check. Even the whiskey is probably worth more than Ciel’s life. 

Despite its grandiose nature, the atmosphere is similar. The faint smell of smoking tobacco and cognac is as nostalgic as it is foreign. The memory might as well be a dream. A warm hearth blazing with the crackle of new timbers; a happy family, content with full bellies and good cheer; and a dog, stretched out long and familiar on the Oriental rug before the fire. 

“I used to have a dog named Sebastian.” It’s an impulsive bit of information, inconsequential in a grander scheme. A good meal and even better liquor seems to have put Ciel is a particular mood. “Good dog too.”

A frown curves across Sebastian’s lips, hidden precariously behind the rim of his tumbler. “Unusual name for a dog.” 

“Unusual name,” Ciel laments. “Mom named him. Not quite sure why. Who would ever name anything Sebastian?” He’s trying his luck, Ciel knows this, but it’s like playing with fire. There is a blaze behind Sebastian’s eyes and Ciel thinks he might not mind being scorched by that heat. The thrill of danger wells up deep within him, he swallows it down. “She probably did it to spite my father. He would have wanted something more practical.” 

“Sebastian is a fine name, although I might he biased.” 

“Just a little.” 

“Indeed.” They say nothing, letting a lull of silence pass between them. Sebastian seems pensive, keenly in tune to Ciel’s every move. The attention might seem invasive but Ciel covets it. There is no judgement behind those eyes, just interest. It’s been a long time since Ciel has not been judged in any capacity. Judged for his abilities; judged for his past. Ciel’s life has placed him in the stand, the world his jury. 

“Dad came home by surprise that night. He’d missed my birthday; I guess he was trying to make up for it. Sebastian was always put outside when dad came home. Dog’s belonged in the yard, not in the house. At least that’s what he would always tell my mom. She never agreed with him, Sebastian slept in my bed most nights.” Maybe the whiskey was getting to him. Ciel has not felt this loose lipped in a long while. 

“You blame your dad for what happen?” Sebastian smooth timber in soothing, but too close to clinical. 

“This isn’t a session,” Ciel reminds. “This is just a conversation.” 

Sebastian humbly agrees. “Of course, forgive me.” 

“I don’t… blame him, that is.” Maybe at one point Ciel did. If at any time, he no longer remembers. He blames those who spilt blood, who took his life from him. “It’s not his fault he got too close, let too much be known. The cult, the one he was hunting… they found out, wanted revenge. They got it, and I watched.” 

“That must have been traumatic.” 

Ciel snorts. “You would have thought. I had psychiatrists try to wrap their minds around me for months. I was repressed they said. I was just bidding my time. They never did find the ringleader, you know? He’s still out there, the bastard.” 

“It’s why you joined the FBI?” It seems the logical conclusion. Ciel won’t fault him for that. 

“No, it’s why I joined the police force… couldn’t get into the FBI, not with my background.” He laughs, perhaps a little less sober than he was thirty minutes ago. Ciel could feel the warmth of the alcohol in his cheeks. “Serendipitous that I ended up there anyways… well in some capacity. A dog on a lease, wouldn’t you say?” 

Sebastian could not hold back the smirk. “The FBI’s dog.” 

“Woof.” 

They both laugh, quiet chucks in the darkly lit parlor. It’s comforting and familiar. “Thank you for telling me,” Sebastian says after a moment. 

Ciel shrugs it off. “Nothing you can’t read in the papers.” The rest of the evening is spent in companionable conversation. They keep to light topics and literature. The latter perhaps not so light. At midnight, Sebastian offers Ciel the guest bedroom. 

“Trying to get me in bed already, Dr. Michaelis?” Ciel has been sober for a good hour now, but the night still brings out a playfulness he enjoys. 

“Only if it would work.” 

The response has Ciel blushing despite himself. It’s a subtle reminder that Ciel should really be getting home before he did something regrettable. He cannot be sure if Sebastian is truly teasing him or genuinely flirting with him. He’s not even sure which he would prefer. Tonight is not the night to figure that one out. 

“I really should be going.” It’ll be a long enough drive to Wolf Trap, at least the roads would be clear at this hour. They move to the door and linger there. Ciel takes his coat, grateful that Sebastian does not offer to help him. It’s starting to feel like a date; he’s not sure how to feel about that. 

Ciel goes for the door. “Thank you for to—” A hand falls a top his own on the antique brass handle. It startles Ciel, sending a heat up his arm. His eyes follow and soon he’s looking up into two bright garnet spheres. 

“Would you like to come to dinner again?” Sebastian’s voice is quiet and thick with the deep accent. 

“I’ll be busy…” As far as responses go, it’s the best Ciel can come up with. His brain has suddenly decided to go offline. “This new case, or I think it’s a case… I don’t think we’ll have answers anytime soon.” 

Sebastian frowns and leans in just a little closer. Both seem to be holding their breaths. A little more, just a little closer and they would touch. “The suicides?” Sebastian remembers hearing about them. A little to unique and similar not to be connected.

Ciel nods, bringing them just a little closer. 

“When you’re free then?” The words blow against Ciel’s lips. He shivers and then the heat is gone. Sebastian now stands a respectable distance, like he was never intrusive at all. 

“When I’m free.” Ciel’s out the door before he can get an affirmation. He’s not sure why those last words weigh with him so heavily. They feel binding, as if he has sold a part of himself to the other man. Perhaps he has? 

The drive home seems longer than it should, Ciel’s house even emptier. He sleeps that night, feeling the weight of loneness and the hunger for some nameless depravity. 

\---

It’s embarrassingly easy to figure it all out. He’s dealt with his fair share of drug addicts, all coming to him for some miracle cure for the mind. Sebastian can’t say he has a particular liking for that taste of individual. Only one patient stands out as the probably target. A man with a predisposition for manipulation and for the love of drugs. To move from manipulation through drugs, to murder with drugs is not a giant leap. 

Sebastian stands leisurely within the hovel of an apartment. It’s a nest of filth and decadence of the deadly. The place is empty for the time being, he must of beaten them by seconds. 

Sure enough, the click of the door sounds, keys in the lock, and the inebriated giggle of a woman coasts through the silence. The lights blink on and thick silence follows. 

“Dr. Michaelis?” Sebastian turns at the call of his name. The question is wary and cautious. 

“Nice to see you again Lau.” He looks to the man’s side. “Ran-mou.” The woman is clearly not in her right mind, eyes too hazy with some unknown substance. Lou on the other hand is as clear minded as Sebastian. 

“I don’t remember you making house visits doctor.” 

Sebastian smiles, wide and with promise. “What can I say? You’ve begun to draw my attention. I see you are no longer using.” 

“I’ve found a better high as per your suggestion,” Lau says. He seems unconcerned with Sebastian. It’s either stupidity or bravery, neither will allow him to walk out of this alive. 

“Normally I would congratulate you. Unfortunately, you are a hindrance in my plans.” Sebastian sees the glint of a knife in Lau’s hand. That’s as far as it goes before Sebastian moves. The knife hits the floor, unused, Lau’s body following soon after.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, so it took me way to long to get this chapter out. Rest assured that I will not abandon this. Work was just hell. Now I'm in the homeward stretch before summer. If all goes well, I should now have more time to sit back and write. 
> 
> I did read through this quickly, but there is no telling if I missed any errors. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this next installment! :)

The call comes an hour before sunrise, four hours until Ciel has any commitments to attend. Shrill buzzing litters the quiet of the bedroom, so insistent that it cannot go ignored. Groaning, he rolls over and blindly palms along the nightstand for the infernal device. 

“Yes?” he snaps, voice muddled and dry from sleep. Work has been hell and sleep is not a commodity Ciel can afford. Two more drug induced suicides, three hours of connecting the dots, and an hour of head scratching led to a new murder investigation. Ciel had been right, of course he had. These were not unfortunate deaths. These were murder, manipulations spawned from substance abuse and sadistic pleasure. 

“Ciel, we’ve got another.” 

‘Good morning to you too,’ Ciel wanted to say, but kept his mouth firmly shut. Crossing Tanaka this early in the morning would not end well. Pushing all complaints aside, he substitutes them with a simple, “Okay. Give me the address and an hour.” The call ends without a farewell, and Ciel tosses the phone to the bottom of the bed. There goes any plans on catching some much needed sleep. 

The room is cold and the wood floors even colder. It take pure will power to march across the bare floors into the bathroom. He does not bother to look at himself in the mirror. There is no point. He already knows the hellish mask he’s already wearing. 

A shower is taken, teeth brushed, and coffee made. Ciel rolls out of his house in a haze. If any good can come of current matters, it’s within the business quieting Ciel’s mind. So long as he stays over worked, he cannot stop to think about Sebastian. Not about his food, or the way he speaks, or the burn of his touch. The man is both apposing and alluring. There is something dangerous there, a sleeping lion that Ciel can’t help but poke. Sebastian burns within a fire that compels Ciel to roast within until he is naught but ash. Funny, Ciel finds no fear within the prospect. 

He’s merging onto the interstate before he becomes aware of himself once more. Another dangerous attribute that has wormed its way into Ciel’s being since his meeting with the good doctor. This man would consume him: mind, body, and soul. 

-

The crime scene is sprawling with cops. The local PD is the first to the scene, not bothering to contact the FBI until an hour later. Place is no doubt a loss for anything useful. Ciel frowns at the trampled soil of the playground. It’s apparent they did not foresee the need to treat this as a murder scene upon arriving.

“Please, tell me they didn’t move the bodies.” Ciel moves to stand next to Mey-rin who looks more awake that she should. 

She shifts her glasses up her nose and gives him a telling look. “That’s the only thing they did do right?” Apparently all hope is not lost. “They’re over there.” Mey-rin points towards where the monkey-bars and slide are situated. Front this distance Ciel can’t make out much, just the dark silhouette against a back drop of the slowly rising sun. Taking a breath, he steels himself and heads over. 

The bodies are there, twisted things in the beginning of their decay. Like grotesque puppets, the man and woman are strung from the upmost beam of the monkey-bars. Hooks spear their flesh and render them upright and attentive to their one and only task. Torn from the bloody mess of their chest cavities are their lungs, framed in pink oleander, sitting now, so precariously, within their outstretched hands. 

It’s an image of horror and depravity, but Ciel cannot help by stare. It’s been a long while since he last saw such an aesthetic monstrosity. Where one would see death and destruction, Ciel can see past the dark ripples towards something wholly other. It’s a tantalizing light, macabre and red. This is not the work of a serial killer, not a murder, not the product of insanity. This is art and the work of an artist’s hand. 

Ciel blinks and the euphoria that was coiling tight within him fades. It leaves him feeling unsettled and cold. For a moment he wonders if he is tapping into a shadow of a presence that has long since gone, or if he alone can stake claim to his dark thoughts. Regardless, Ciel feels unsettled to close his eyes and dive into this killer’s mind. He’s given little choice and merely clamps down on the uncertainty. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and dives—

_They are familiar annoyances, ones that have been teetering on the edge of a knife for far too long. It only took an excuse, a reason, to bend the hand of Fate and let them fall. These are poisonous people. Weak minded with unrefined taste._

_Nonsensical death gives no meaning and provides little beauty. It’s an unfortunate waste. They merely played the puppeteer in their victims lives. An insidious hand to mold a poisoned mind. Breath has been wasted on these swine, stolen from those who are more worthy. They must offer it back; beg forgiveness for their unsightly existence._

_The man will be the first. He is immobile, but completely coherent. Every slid of the knife will be felt, and in turn savored. Practiced hands steadily cut down a naked torso. The victim’s eyes are wide with fear and pain. To see such a look allows great satisfaction to swell within. Without much thought or care, the rib cage is plied apart to expose the warm, wet inner workings of the human body. It is unfortunate that such a specimen be so tainted by toxic substances; an addict through and through. Such a waste._

_No mind is taken of the victim, long since passed out from pain. Soon death will make its final claim. Instead, salvation is found within the hot pulse of blood. The lungs are nestled quaintly just within reach. They feel warm and resilient within strong and deft hands. It’s almost too much to resist licking at the visceral fluid weaved and dripping between fingers._

_The euphoria of the moment is suffocating. Ciel gets lost in it. The power of taking a life is addicting and all consuming. He sees Claude Faustus’ body limp, body bloodied and bullet ridden. That was the first, this, the man with the poisonous lungs, will be the second. This is his path; this is his fate._

_Ciel smiles down at his masterpiece, all red and raw. His fingers hover just above his lips; a curious tongue darting out for a tantalizing taste. This is a baptism, this a becoming—_

The world washes away to the present and Ciel feels his body vibrating with a wound up force. Bard is beside him, large hand on Ciel’s shoulder. He looks down in concern at Ciel’s glazed and faraway eyes. 

“You okay kid?” he asks. 

Truth be told, Ciel felt a strange peace welling within him. It only causes his growing anxiety to burst forth to drown him. What he has seen, no, what he has done, is running on a loop within his mind. It will not stop. Ciel can still feel the knife in his hand, the warm blood at his fingertips. He is no stranger to seeing the murder scene. No stranger to seeing it through the killer’s eyes. It’s what his empathy does. 

Never though, has Ciel been so thoroughly thrust into a vision of the event to which there is no discerning factors between where he begins and the killer ends. To see himself as the killer, well, that would be a first. This realization leaves him shaking and short of breath. By this point the scene has gained the attention of the majority of the officers and investigators on duty. Tanaka is the first to arrive, looking more perturbed than worried. Ciel doesn’t have the presence of mind to take offense. 

“What did you see Ciel?” Tanaka, as always, is all business. 

Ciel takes a few gulps of air, air that the two bodies are no longer wasting on themselves, and turns bright eyes to Tanaka. “They’re murders, the two of them. This killer, he was… purging the world of their filth. They weren’t worthy and merely a hindrance. This is the work of a seasoned killer, highly arrogant and intelligent. This is not the first time he’s taken a life.” 

Looking back at the scene, Ciel knows there are very few serial killers who fit this bill. Even fewer who have such a flair for the dramatics. His stomach clenches at the sudden realization. 

“Does…” Ciel licks his lips, tasting the phantom remnants of blood. “Does either victim have missing organs? Any possible trophies taken?” 

Bard looks confused before shaking his head. “Aside for from the lungs being topside, everything seems to be accounted for.” 

“You don’t think—“ Tanaka trails off, looking more unsure than Ciel has seen him in a long while. 

“It’s not his MO. The artistry is here, but…” Ciel trails off. It doesn’t fit, nothing makes sense, and the sick thrill of a kill is still ebbing through his veins. If Ciel is sure of anything at this point, it’s that there is nothing to be sure of at all. The Raven was one of the most infamous serial killers of Ciel’s time. Ciel remembers the two years when the killer was at large. Murder scenes straight out of a Renaissance painting yet with all the twisted grace of a work of Poe’s. All missing some organ or limb. Crimes scenes were wiped clean; no evidence was ever left behind. One big unsolved case that left the entirety of the FBI salty and ill at ease. 

If The Raven is back in the game, that boded well for no one. If Ciel is empathizing with him to such an extreme extent, well, that causes its own list of worries. To loose himself within any serial killer would be a terrible fate. To loose himself in The Raven would spell disaster. Even now, Ciel cannot shake the hunger for blood and violence. It seeps through every pore and urges him to partake. 

“Am I done here?” Ciel asks suddenly. He needs to leave, be as far from this hellhole as he can. 

Tanaka eyes him, sees the boy’s still shaking frame and nods. “Get some rest. I’ll give you an update tomorrow.” 

No more words are exchange, none that Ciel is aware, and he is off towards his car. The drive to Sebastian’s is like a dream. He’s only aware of the trip the moment he is pulling up outside the substantial Baltimore home. It isn’t until Ciel is ringing the doorbell that he realizes it’s only five in the morning. The rudeness of it all is only a backdrop to a bigger issue. Ciel really can’t bring himself to care if he wakes the doctor up. If anything it’ll be cathartic to see Sebastian even a centimeter less put together than he normally is. 

If Ciel was expecting Sebastian in his nightclothes, he is sorely disappointed. Sebastian opens the door in black slacks and a maroon button-up. He doesn’t even seem the least bit surprised to see Ciel look dejected on his front steps. Instead, he simply steps to the side and allows the younger man to push through. 

“Tanaka called.” And that explains that. “He said you seemed shaken.” 

“So naturally everyone thinks I’ll run to you?” Ciel bites back, to which Sebastian smiles. 

“It seems they would not be in the wrong.” There is no arguing that and Ciel doesn’t even try to muster that energy to do so. He is already feeling more subdued within Sebastian’s presence. The tense lines of his shoulders are melting into smoother lines and he breathes easy once more. 

They make their way to the kitchen where Ciel sees a pot of coffee going and the beginning of breakfast on the stove. It all smells exquisite and reminds Ciel just how hungry he is. 

“Did Tanaka wake you?” 

Sebastian is busying himself making coffee for the two of them. He spares only a moment to glance Ciel’s way and continues his task. “No, I was already up reviewing my schedule for the day.” 

“Oh, I’ll make this brief then—“ 

“Nonsense, I have a free day as it happens.” A steaming cup of coffee, with cream and sugar, is placed next to Ciel. The warmth of it can be felt along Ciel’s arms and he welcomes it eagerly. As always, the taste is divine. 

Sebastian allows for a comfortable silence to settle over the kitchen as food is made and plated. With a small gesture he leads the way into the dining room. Ciel follows at a sedate pace. They have, under some unspoken agreement, decided that talk can wait until after bellies are full. Plates of eggs benedict and seasoned sausage are eaten with much appreciation and enjoyment. Even the fresh squeezed orange juice tastes better than anything Ciel has ever managed. 

Once plates are cleaned and stomachs full, Ciel is led into the parlor with a fresh cup of coffee. He sits as Sebastian stokes the fire and comes to join him on the leather couch. The silence stretches on for only moments before Ciel gathers his nerves and begins to speak. 

“I became a killer today… Murdered the victim with my own hands.” He notes the interest that has sparked within Sebastian’s eyes. Seeing that something more that Ciel just can’t place. 

“It wouldn’t be the first life you took.” No, and sadly Ciel isn’t sure it’s the violence or the murder itself that has him to flustered and out of sorts. 

“I’ve never fallen so completely into a killers psyche. Never seen it from anyone’s eyes but their own. If I did not know, for certain, that these victims were killed by another’s hand, I’d think I was guilty of it all.” He pauses and looks at Sebastian. Eyes so wide and desperate that they show so much of this boy’s soul. “Worst part is, I wish I could lay claim to that bloody monstrosity. When I first laid eyes on it, I saw art. I saw beauty. Life within death. I wanted to stake claim to such magnificence. It would feel like playing god. So much power in taking life. I know, I’ve felt it and it’s this ugly need to feel it again that is suffocating the life from me. “ 

“This bothers you?” 

“Yes!” No. “I can’t be—“

“You’re lying. You are not nearly as remorseful as you should be for such thoughts. Or should I say, as remorseful as society would have you feel. It’s that fact that has you so unsettled. If you were upset over simply murdering another through proxy, you would have shown far more remorse when you took Claude Faustus’ life.” Ciel did not like the smile curling Sebastian’s lips. “You crave it, the feel of blood on your hands. You want to give in; you fear the thought of turning your back on this need.”

“I would be careful Dr. Michaelis, you sound as if you are condoning murder.” 

Sebastian waves his hand carelessly. He seems completely unconcerned with the dark nature of this talk. “I’m simply helping a patient to better understand themselves and pave a road to self-acceptance.”

“Even if that path leads to murder?” Ciel wasn’t sure he wants to hear the answer to this. 

A smirk plays dangerously on Sebastian’s lips. “Is it murder if the individual isn’t deserving of life? You wish not for murder, do you? You crave for something much more.” 

Ciel can’t stop the dry laugh that escapes him. “Revenge you mean?”

“Or something akin to it.” They spend a moment in silence, taking in the heaviness of the discussion between them. Ciel has always known Sebastian toed the line into the grey ambiguity of morality. “An avenging angel, you. Wrathful in your passion.” 

“I am hardly that grand.” 

Sebastian tsk’s him, waving a very disapproving finger. “I think not. You are quite grand. Your mind alone is marvelous.” Each word is punctuated and alluring. It pulls Ciel in, calling him to lean closer into Sebastian’s space. 

“I’m not sure that is the proper way to refer to your patient. Quite scandalous really,” Ciel quips. 

“Would you have me stop? I was under the impression that, despite your salty disregard of me, you find me quite… enticing.” They moved closer than what common courtesy would warrant. Their knees touch, shoulders brushing, and coffee left to grow cold. 

Ciel pulls back just a bit, lake blue eyes regarding the man before him. “You think far too highly of yourself, Dr. Michaelis.” 

“And you try far too hard to prove your indifference. It’s unbecoming, really.” A steady hand comes to fix the slight upturn of Ciel’s shirt collar. The heat of Sebastian’s hand is like a brand. Ciel has to forcibly keep himself from leaning into the slight touch. 

“I do no such thing.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Don’t mock me.” 

“Then don’t lie to yourself.” 

Before Ciel can bite back an answer, Sebastian’s hand curls tightly into the soft cotton of the shirt collar and pulls him in with surprising force. Their lips met, teeth cutting into the soft tissue. A cry escapes Ciel as blood wells and smears between them. Sebastian’s lips are persistent and hungry. It’s both overpowering and exquisite. This man is all devouring and Ciel can’t help but to become pliant within his grasp. When they pull apart, Sebastian’s eyes glow a bewitching crimson in the firelight. Every nerve ending is a light and Ciel feels more alive than he has in many years. 

“I did wonder,” Sebastian all but purrs. “How sweet you would taste with blood upon your lips.” 

“And your consensus?” Is Ciel’s breathy response. 

Nothing is said for another moment, lips coming back together in new union. They kiss softly, Sebastian savoring the taste of Ciel’s lips. As they part, whispered words dance along Ciel’s ear and a shiver trembles down his spine. 

“Absolutely sublime.” 

Indeed, Ciel thinks, it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not overly familiar with the areas mentioned, so I took creatively liberties is describing them. 
> 
> Also, the information about spider mythology came from Wikipedia. My one stop shop for quick info.


End file.
